


Not A Love Poem

by khaki_da



Series: Bluepulse fics [4]
Category: Blue Beetle (Comics), Impulse (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Bluepulse, Dating, Grief/Mourning, Love Poems, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, and jaime is a poet, bart is an artist, bug puns, it's actually really sad, look at the archive warning if you want to prepare yourself, the prompt was loss though so it's not all happiness and rainbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaki_da/pseuds/khaki_da
Summary: When Bart finds out that Jaime has a talent for writing poetry, he asks him to write a love poem, but Jaime has other plans.





	Not A Love Poem

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day four of bluepulse week. If you didn't read the tags, just keep in mind that the prompt was "loss," so it's not all going to be happy

“Bart, can you go one minute without drawing me? I’m trying to eat.” Jaime loved that Bart had found a creative outlet that he really enjoyed, but being a constant muse was getting old really quick.

“Nope. You’re a walking bundle of inspiration. Hold still.” Bart answered, then continued his work, slightly poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. His leg was bouncing at super speed, and it reminded Jaime of Thumper the rabbit.

“I. Am. Eating.” Jaime warned between mouthfuls of junk food, trying not to let on that he was actually amused. Bart was the one who had brought all this food, though, so Jaime wasn’t about to not eat it just so Bart could draw him.

“Fine, then I’m just gonna have to draw you with your mouth full.”

[Arguing with the Bart Allen is ineffective. He will do as he pleases.]

Jaime stuffed half a donut in his mouth.

“Fine by me.” Jaime grunted with his overly full mouth for emphasis. Once he finished chewing, he got up and headed to the bathroom. “Can’t draw me in here, though.”

When he came back, Bart wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, so Jaime went to his room. Sure enough, Bart was sitting on his bed.

“I didn’t know you like to write!” Bart exclaimed as he sifted through Jaime’s personal journal.

“I go to the bathroom for one minute and you go through my stuff?”

“We’ve been dating over a year. You should know I’m nosey by now.” Bart smirked. “So how come you never told me you were a poet? You’re really crash at it, you know.”

“I’m not. I was just messing around.” Jaime snatched his journal and tucked it away in his drawer.

Bart zipped over to Jaime, wrapped his arms around Jaime’s waist and fluttered his lashes. “Will you write me a looooove poem?”

“I told you I’m not a poet, Bart.”

“Oh, come on, yes you are!” Bart pouted. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll fill an entire sketchbook just for you if you write me just one teeny tiny poem.” Bart puckered his lips and batted his lashes again. When that didn’t phase Jaime, he switched to a sad puppy face. Jaime was still annoyed that Bart went through his stuff, but… how could he stay mad at that face?

“Hey, those donuts gave me a mad craving for ice cream. Let’s go get some.” Jaime said.

“Uh, does anyone even sell ice cream this late?”

“We’ll find out. Come on.” Jaime grabbed Bart’s hand and led him to the door. Bart forgot all about the love poem as they went on a mission to find ice cream.

Well, he forgot until they got back.

Bart was distracted easily, but he was still very persistent when he wanted something, and he wanted a love poem. It made Jaime anxious, and he didn't fully understand why.

“Bart, dejalo, please.”

Bart put on his best flirty face and took a step closer. “Khaji, help me out here?”

[The Bart Allen is looking for a display of affection, Jaime Reyes. The best course of action would be agree to write the poem.]

“Hijole, you’re taking his side?”

Bart smiled. “Thanks Khaji.”

[The Bart Allen is not being unreasonable.]

Instead of offering to write the poem, Jaime offered to play Dance Dance Revolution. Bart had been begging him to play for weeks, so he figured it was a decent compromise. Bart wanted a display of affection, right? Maybe this would do. Bart was the type of sap who found DDR romantic.

Apparently, it was the perfect distraction. Halfway through the first song, Bart started cracking up.

“Hey, Jaime. What do you call a beetle that likes to dance?” He could barely get the words out through his snickering.

Jaime rolled his eyes playfully, “I don’t know, Bart.”

“A jitter-bug!” Bart spat out, then burst into a laughing fit, and lost the round because he was laughing so hard.

“Is that why you wanted me to play this so bad? So you could make that terrible pun?”

Bart couldn’t stop laughing, so he just gave Jaime a nod with laugh-induced teary eyes.

“We’re breaking up.” Jaime joked, but it took all of his willpower to keep from laughing, too, more because of Bart’s manic hyena cackle than the joke itself.

Bart had a cute laugh, _most_ of the time. But when he laughed _really_ hard, it was more like a fit of screaming and gasping for air than laughing. Somehow, the jitter-bug pun had done that for him. And that hyena laugh was contagious as hell, so within minutes, they both somehow ended up on the floor, holding their sides because of the pain brought on by uncontrollable laughter.

 

...

 

They didn't get to bed until the sun was peeking over the horizon. The night consisted of Jaime trying to distract Bart from his poetry. Ice cream, DDR, stargazing, and kissing were better than some poorly-written poem, right?

Bart slept in Jaime’s bed that night. It was hot, so they weren’t cuddling as close as usual. Instead, they laid next to each other with their fingers interlocked, and their ankles crossed over each other.

Jaime thought Bart had fallen asleep, because he hadn't said anything for a while, but it turned out he was just thinking about what to say.

“Listen, Jaime… I shouldn't have gone through your journal. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you or anything. I just got excited because I thought your poetry was really crash. I thought it’d be nice if it was… I don't know…  something I could be a part of. Like how you’re a part of my art, you know?” Bart let out an unsteady sigh. “But that’s just me being selfish. I draw you because _I_ want to, and, I don’t know, I didn’t realize that maybe poetry is different for you. You don’t have to write me a poem, Jaime… I already know you love me.” Bart scooted closer and lightly kissed Jaime’s forehead.

“You’re amazing, do you know that? And I do, Bart. Love you, that is.” Jaime confirmed, then he rolled over towards Bart and pulled him in so they could cuddle. Neither of them cared that it was hot, it just felt right to be closer to each other.

Besides, Jaime had secretly caved about the poem hours ago. He already had the words running around in his mind. He would write them down as soon as Bart left the next day.

 

…

 

The mission the next night was mostly a blur. It was just Jaime and Bart, everyone else was deployed elsewhere. All Jaime knew was that one moment everything was on track, and the next, he was pressing down on Bart’s chest to stop a gunshot wound from bleeding too much.

Jaime and Khaji Da had been focused on their task. They had to stay focused, or the mission would fail. They couldn’t have known someone was going to try to shoot them.

The only person that reacted to the gunshot was Bart. By the time Jaime and Khaji Da came back to the real world, the threat was gone. Bart had taken the bullet that was meant for Jaime, and he was bleeding on the floor.

[You must apply more pressure to the wound, Jaime Reyes. Bart Allen has a 54% chance of survival if help arrives immediately.]

Jaime did what he was told. Khaji had called for backup as soon as Bart was shot, but no one was showing up.

“Bart, stay with me. Por favor, no me dejes!” Jaime’s throat collapsed as he spoke, and he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing.

“J-Jaime…?” Bart gasped. His eyes were wide and tears flowed from them freely. They darted around in the distance, as if he couldn't find Jaime.

“Bart, mírame, I’m here, I’m right here.” Bart’s eyes shifted in Jaime’s direction, but he looked like he was seeing right past him. Bart grabbed Jaime’s hands and clamped his fingers around them tight, like if he let go he would disappear. Khaji Da pulled out a couple of tendrils to put pressure on the wound so Bart could keep squeezing on to Jaime’s hands.

“I… I’m sorry… Jaime, I -” Bart started, but Jaime softly put a finger to his lips. He didn’t want Bart to waste his energy trying to talk.

“Shhh, tranquilo. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Jaime said between sobs, trying to convince himself as much as Bart.

Khaji Da continued pressing down on the wound, Jaime tried to focus on anything but how terrified Bart looked. “Where the hell is everyone? Khaji, he's okay, right? Please tell me he’s gonna be okay!”

[It would appear that communications are currently down. I am sorry, Jaime Reyes. He will cease in approximately one minute.]

Bart coughed, and a small amount of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Jaime didn’t want to scare Bart even more by reacting, so he leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“I wrote you a poem.” Jaime smiled through the tears, and tried to keep his voice steady enough to be comforting.

Bart was still literally clutching Jaime’s hands for dear life, but the fear in his eyes dwindled, and he smiled.

“Good, because I… I already filled a… sketchbook for you.” Bart choked out, gasping softly between words.

“God, I love you, Bart. I love you so much… I’ll read it to you, ok?”

Bart nodded. A smile still tugged at his lips, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t have the strength to get the words out. His grip on Jaime’s hands was growing weaker.

Jaime suited down immediately, and frantically pulled the poem out of his back pocket, leaving one hand for Bart to grab onto.

Just as Jaime shakily unfolded the poem, Bart’s grip finally loosened, and his hands fell limp to the ground.

 

…

 

Bart wasn't supposed to die.

Jaime would have survived. The mission would have failed, and someone else might have died… but not Jaime… not Bart.

Jaime hated Bart for jumping in front of that bullet. And he hated himself for wanting it to be someone else. Anyone else.

It wasn't supposed to be Bart.

…

 

Jaime didn’t leave his room for the next week. He slept as much as he could, because in his dreams, Bart was alive.

He let Khaji Da take over his body when he absolutely needed to leave his bed. Like when he needed to eat, or use the restroom, or go to the funeral…

He was supposed to give a speech, but he knew if he took back control of his body, he would completely lose it. The numbness was safer, so he took the backseat and let Khaji Da handle the formalities. It was obvious to everyone who was in control, but no one said anything about it.

 

...

 

Jaime hadn’t stopped crying in two weeks. He hadn’t left his room. He hadn’t left his bed. Not on his own, anyways.

Now someone was trying to change that by persistently knocking on the door for a solid minute. Jaime tried his best to ignore it.

[The noise will persist unless you answer the door, Jaime Reyes.]

“I can’t. Can you just…”

[I will handle it.]

“Thanks…” Jaime whispered, and allowed Khaji Da to take control over his body to go to the door. He felt the pressure in his throat disappear, and his eyes stopped leaking tears.

The door opened to reveal Barry, who after losing both of his protégés, didn't look so good. He might have been the only one that was just as messed up about what happened as Jaime. He was pale, with dark bags under his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, which may have been true.

And he was holding Bart’s sketchbook.

“Hey, Jaime.” Barry’s voice was strained, as if he hadn’t used it in a while.

“Greetings, Barry Allen.”

“Oh, Khaji Da. Hi. Is, uh, is Jaime… available?”

Jaime felt Khaji Da loosen his grip on his body for a moment. It was a silent invitation to take back control. Jaime did want to see the book, so he let Khaji Da release control back to him for the first time since…

“Yeah… hey, Barry.” Jaime’s voice hitched, and his tear ducts automatically started leaking again, like they always did when he took control - although he felt like he was anything but in control.

“Oh, Jaime…” Barry reached a hand out to touch Jaime’s shoulder, but Jaime tensed, so Barry didn’t touch him.

“I’m fine.” Jaime lied, knowing he wasn’t fooling anyone. Luckily, Barry didn’t pry.

“It’s good to see you again, Jaime.” Barry said. Jaime wasn’t in the mood for small talk, though.

“Is that…?” He glanced down at the book in Barry’s hands.

“It’s Bart’s sketchbook. He gave it to me to hold on to. He said it’s for you,” Barry smiled softly, “but he didn’t want to leave it around his house, or yours, because you might find it before… I don’t know, some kind of agreement? But after what happened… I figured you would want it.” Barry gently handed it to Jaime.

Jaime looked down at the cover he held in shaky hands. He couldn’t open it. He could barely even hold it. He pulled it to his chest and squeezed, just to make sure it was secure, and that he wouldn’t drop it, because he wanted to protect this book at all costs. But he also did it because maybe holding onto something of Bart’s would somehow bring him back.

“Jaime, you know if you need anything, I’m just a call away, right? You don’t have to be alone in this.”

“I’m not alone… but thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. And thank you… for the sketchbook.”

Barry nodded, and disappeared in a gust of wind. Jaime closed the door and fell to his knees, clutching onto the book.

 

…

 

It was an hour before Jaime gathered the courage to open Bart’s sketchbook. Once he did, he burst out in a laugh-cry at what Bart had written.

**_IF YOU ARE NOT JAIME REYES DO NOT LOOK ANY FURTHER_ **

**_IF YOU ARE JAIME REYES PLEASE LOOK FURTHER_ **

Jaime flipped through the pages, lingering on each one for at least a minute. He never really appreciated Bart’s artistic talent before, and he hated himself for it. Bart was _good_.

There were a few bug puns that made Jaime laugh.

There was a drawing of Jaime, playing DDR with the caption “jitter-bug.”

Jaime and Bart holding hands. Bart’s belly had beetles flying around in it. A play on the “butterflies in the belly” cliche.

A drawing of Jaime stuffing his face with a donut captioned “dia-beetle.”

There were several pages of drawings dedicated to Khaji Da, too. A few drawings of Jaime’s back, some of just Khaji Da roaming around freely, and a few of the Blue Beetle armor.

Jaime felt a warmth radiate from the scarab at the sight of those.

There were also drawings of Jaime doing everyday things, like playing video games, doing homework, eating, and sleeping.

Jaime laid the book down on the nightstand in his room and searched through his dirty laundry for the pants he was wearing two weeks ago. When he found them, he dug into the back pocket and pulled out a wrinkled up piece of paper. He pressed it down flat on the nightstand, then slipped it inside the sketchbook, and read it one more time before closing it. Then he hugged the book against his chest again, and didn’t let go until he fell asleep.

 

…

 

_Not a Love Poem_

 

_ Mi amor, I won’t write you a love poem _

_ because I’d rather look at you _

_ I’d rather listen to your cheesy jokes and pretend I don’t love them _

_ I’d rather laugh with you because  _

_ you have my favorite smile _

  
  


_ Conejito, I won’t write you a love poem  _

_ because I’d rather tangle our fingers _

_ and go on an adventure _

_ Let’s find somewhere  _

_ that sells ice cream at 2 in the morning _

 

_ Mi cielito, I won’t write you a love poem _

_ because we just had ice cream _

_ and I would rather spend my time with you  _

_ burning off those calories _

_ by playing Dance Dance Revolution at 3 in the morning _

 

_ Mi cariño, I won’t write you a love poem _

_ Because I’d rather be in love _

_ Here, now _

_ With you _

_ And let time fly away _

 

_ Hermoso, I won’t write you a love poem _

_ I’d rather kiss you _

_ I’d rather dance _

_ I’d rather watch the sky _

_ while we wait for the sun to come up _

 

_ Mi alma,  _

_ I won’t write you a love poem _

_ because I would miss you too much _

_ because you are all the poetry I need _

_ because I don’t ever want to stop perusing your soul _

_ because if I wrote you a love poem _

_ I’d have to stop reading. _

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Translations:

Dejalo- leave it alone

Hijole- kind of like ‘jeez’

Por favor no me dejes- please don’t leave me

Mírame- look at me

Tranquilo- kind of like a nice/comforting way of saying calm down/be quiet

Mi amor- my love

Conejito- little bunny

Mi cielito- my little sky

Mi cariño- my baby/my love

Hermoso- beautiful/handsome

Mi alma- my soul

**Author's Note:**

> I am fully aware of what a terrible person I am. I'm sorry :(
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr](https://khaki-da.tumblr.com/) :)


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